


She's Using Her Nosy Reporter Skills

by batmandragon42



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmandragon42/pseuds/batmandragon42
Summary: Dot, an investigative reporter by trade, has been hired to write a sellout publicity book for the band Gorillaz. However, she can't help but apply her skills and uncover some massive secrets underscoring the world of the band. And perhaps some feelings for a certain singer.A/N: Hello! So this is going to be a semi-romance semi-gen fic. A good chunk of it will be focused on the connection between Dot and 2D, but also a LOT of it will be focused on the mystery and general band stuff. All of this to say that if you are looking exclusively for romance then it might be better to sit this one out. Just wanted to make it clear, because I know that if I were having a night and just looking for some comfort fluff I definitely would not want to accidentally get sucked into this multi-chapter poorly written/plotted hellscape. Anyway, enjoy!
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Original Character(s), Murdoc Niccals/Original Female Character(s), Murdoc Niccals/Reader, Noodle (Gorillaz)/Original Female Character(s), Noodle (Gorillaz)/Reader, Russel Hobbs/Original Character(s), Russel Hobbs/Reader, Stuart "2D" Pot/Original Character(s), Stuart "2D" Pot/Original Female Character(s), Stuart "2D" Pot/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

"So, wait, this man is known to have committed several crimes, as well as abused one of his bandmates, and he's still, like, well liked?"

"You must be new to this whole industry."

"Well, no, I mean, I've never reported on this kind of stuff before. Like, I've heard of them, and all that, but-"

"Look, stop trying to sell yourself. You have the job, rookie. I figured someone like you, willing to get down and dirty in the details, but also a pair of fresh eyes, would be perfect for this."

"Well, yeah, I understand the perspective, but I've never written a book before."

"Don't think of it as a book. Think of it as a really long article."

"Well, I don't wanna sound too journalist-y."

"Why not?"

"Well, you know, normally I report on big things, like scandals, crimes, suspicious affairs, and, I mean, I love it, but it's all monumentally accusatory, and quite dirty."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Isn't this supposed to be neutral?"

"God, no! We want this to sell."

"Well, yeah, but if people have my dumb accusations and assumptions littered throughout the whole thing, then it'll just feel like an..."

"An investigation?"

"An investigation... of the Gorillaz."

"And isn't that what all great books are? An investigation of something."

"I suppose you're right. But we're dealing with really, really public figures, and, I mean, of course I'll have to get their approval, but a lot of people, fans, are going to be reading this book just to get an affirmation on something they already like. What if we say something that they don't? Like, the people who read my articles read them because they care about those issues and they care about the truth... God that sounded really pretentious but you know what I mean, right?"

"I've been doing this longer than you, kid."

"Well, there's just a difference in audiences. Not that I wouldn't like to break into this audience, but I just don't think that a massive project like this is the way to get started."

"Is it a bit of a leap of faith? Sure, but, a) you won't just be shooting in the dark, that's what we have editors for, and b) if it's good, it's going to be really good. And again, because of your interesting perspective, it could even be people who aren't fans. That's why I chose you."

"Alright, alright, you're the boss. Well, I suppose you're not my boss anymore."

"Watch it, rookie, you'll still be working here, just part time."

"Part time?"

"Very loose part time."

"So, wait, then who will be my boss?"

"Technically, the band is, but really, you'll be answering to their publicist, and possibly their manager."

"Oh, my favorite kinds of people."

"Yeah, I don't like to deal with them either. So, get out of my office and start working with them so they can stop asking me for a writer."

"Thank you."

"Try saying that again after you've written the damn thing."


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not that anyone cares, but I really hate that it says Chapter 2: Chapter 1 and I will fix it when I come up with good chapter names. Anyway, continue.

"Loudest doorbell I ever heard."

_"Yeah, Murdoc fought so too."_

**"I mean, it's something that could be easily fixed, if we ever got around to fixin' tha place."**

"So, you know that it's kinda a fixer upper?"

**"Well yeah, but, y'know, being extremely famous and all, we had to pick somewhere secluded so we can focus on our work. I mean, I attract so many girls whenever I go out in public, but a home is supposed to be somewhere where you can connect with people who are important to you, and where we can, er, focus on our music."**

_"Yeah, an' connect wif a few demons."_

"Yeah, did you know about those when you bought the place?"

**"Well, when I bought Kong studios, I was specifically looking for somewhere haunted. No house can really match a place that has its own portal to Hell, but I thought that this one came pretty close. But, y'know, if you already know the extent of the haunting, then it's hardly fun, yeah? Ahahaha (A/N: Y'all know that Murdoc laugh, right? Like, literally any of these:** **)"**

~~~~~

"Hello?"

The door creaked open, and my voice rang out, up the empty stairway and through the winding hallway. A part of me was still convinced that I'd just got so tired of looking for the right place that I'd given up and convinced myself that this abandoned house was where I was looking for.

Also, that it just happened to have a '69 Camaro in front of it.

I peered down at my phone again. The email had said 6:00 PM, next Tuesday. I tapped on the screen as the time appeared on the top. 5:58 PM. I checked the weather app. It was definitely Tuesday. The car was in front of the house. This was the exact address. In fact, the publicist had specifically said that it looks unwelcoming.

Small droplets began to fall from the sky. I stared into the gray clouds. Perhaps they were just one of those celebrities that left their door open. You really never can tell with these artistic types. Either way, I assumed that they wouldn't mind if I took a small step inside.

"Hello?" I tried again, a little louder, and, again, received my own voice as an answer. I shut the door behind me and carried on into the mystery house.

There was a large picture frame to my right of some nondescript person who, honestly, could've come from any time period. Either way, the picture itself had been through some stuff, and the person in it looked like an unwilling participant. How welcoming.

I began to wonder if, perhaps, something unfortunate had happened. Gorillaz had been around surprisingly long for celebrities, and they weren't exactly known for their healthy, ethical, lifestyles. If I had managed to discover one of them after an overdose, that would make for a hell of a story.

The stairs looked like I would've fallen through them, so I chose to explore one of the hallways, turning to my left. The black on my sneakers perfectly complemented a rug that would've otherwise been violently purple if it hadn't by several years' worth of dust. The walls were no different, also containing vintage patterns that were on the verge of disappearing with how worn-down they were. Part of me was curious if someone living here had caused this or if it was like that when they moved in. Or maybe both.

Ahead of me were a few doorways branching into other rooms, most of them with hinges but no physical door. The faint light from the lightning that had begun to crash outside streamed in through the windows, occasionally allowing me to see my path. The scenario reminded me of a poorly produced horror movie, which, even if it wasn't scary for the viewer, was definitely scary for the people in it.

If anything can get someone to venture deeper into a seemingly unfortunate situation, it's a journalist being nosy. Of course, this short venture could've been taken as a good thing. The details, which make the best stories, are always the ones that your subjects never tell you themselves. What are the idiosyncrasies of the way they live that they either don't notice, or don't want to notice? What did their house hide that drew them here in the first place? And, again, did someone overdose in this place, because there hadn't yet been the slightest hint that anything was moving. Even the rats seemed to run.

The first room I passed were three battered couches in a "U" formation with what was the most modern thing in the house, a large, slightly sideways, plasma TV. So, someone had been in this house in the last couple years. I began to walk towards the room with the television in it, searching for any other signs of life, when my off-kilter instincts reached their peak and I began to tumble backward slightly.

I looked through the hall, reaching for something to grab, only to realize that the entire hallway had suddenly begun to extend far beyond my line of sight. The colors began to become increasingly vibrant, but at the same time dark, with shots of a muted purple, and what looked like a zoomed out solar system. I looked down at my feet again, only to be met with countless stars, reaching into the vastness of space.

I fell, and shut my eyes tight, praying for the end.

When I looked up again, I was seated on a moon, with a light blue color, circling around a yellow Saturn-like planet. Off in the distance, there was a makeshift asteroid belt infused with lurid colors that was approaching me at an alarming speed.

I won't lie, while it was terrifying, merely absorbing the visuals of what I was seeing could've been enough to shut anyone's mind down. I just kept myself sat on that moon, staring at what was in front of me.

The original shock value began to wear off, and I noticed my breathing begin to quicken. This had to be some sort of drugs, or some sort of effect, or perhaps I had completely lost my mind and was currently holding on to the last semblance of sanity that I had. What a way to go. Either way, the stressful situations that my job had forced me into before, including one experience with someone who'd had a little too much LSD, allowed me to think somewhat rationally.

Until the worm showed up.

The creature can only be described as a blue, enlarged garden worm, with a poorly painted face on it that had all the features of a human expression but was still undeniably monstrous. It snaked towards me, as I hauled myself up and began to run across the incredibly tiny moon. The gravity must've been strong, as it kept me firmly attached until I reached the underbelly of the moon, and the monster's tail. As if it had a second sense, the tail wiggled, and with a blink, the face was in front of mine, and the monster had me in its grasp, the way that a boa constrictor captures its prey.

This is the way I'm going to die. And no one is going to know what happened except me.

"Hey!" A voice rang through the empty void as the colors got more and more intense. It was something to abrupt to identify any characteristics, but it was also definitely human.

"Hey, snap out of it, luv!" There it was again. However, as the worm was rapidly suffocating me, that was a little difficult.

I awoke with a start. I was on the back couch in the room that I had seen before, with a small blanket draped over me. I looked at my hands. They were sweating. I closed my eyes, my spine racked with chills. I was shivering. I opened them again and peered around the room. A lanky man with bright blue hair and black, soulless eyes was sitting on a small stool in front of the couch, his face a foot away from mine.

I gasped.

"Hey, hey, calm down, luv, is jus' me, 2D." He had a thick cockney accent, the kind where it's the first thing that you notice about the way that a person speaks. I swallowed.

"You're the singer?" My voice was kinda scratchy, and I suddenly became aware of how horribly American I sounded.

"Thas' me! And you're the writer?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah," I pulled my legs to front of the couch and slowly pushed the blanket off, standing up and dusting off my jeans, "I'm so sorry about that, that was incredibly unprofessional." 2D remained seated.

"Is' alright. The demons got to ya, huh?"

"Demons?"

"Yeah, they did the same fing to us when we moved 'ere. You saw tha whole thing, right, with tha space, and tha worm, or maybe you saw the one with the hair arms." I swallowed again.

"No, I had the worm."

"Ah, ya see? But yeah, happens to all of us. All ya need to know is that is' not real, they're just hallucinations."

"Still scared the shit outta me."

"Yeah, the first time it happened to me I ended up in a fridge. Happens to everyone," he crossed one of his legs in the chair while observing me, "Also, I'd keep the blanket if I were you. Tha shivering don' go away until two hours, at least."

"Well, then," I sat back down, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, "It's a good thing we have some time to kill." I reached for my green canvas backpack, which had been placed beside me on the couch.

"So, wha' exactly are you writin' about us?" He watched what I was doing as I dug through all my crap. Notebooks, pencils, pens, laptop, none of which I was looking for.

"Um, well, I'm not entirely sure yet. Ah! Here it is!" I pulled out my tape recorder, my Ol' Reliable.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I think what I wanna write is something that needs to be determined later. Right now, I'm just doing research."

"I fought you were writing abou' our lives. Like a group biography."

"Well, without getting too into what I was thinking," I muddled with my tape recording, still not managing to look him in the eye, "You already have a biography, don't you? And, like, well, I was thinkin', if you want the book to sell, only fans are gonna be interested in a compendium of what's happened to you so far. I want it to be kinda a broad interest thing, like," something in the recorder snapped, and 2D jumped slightly, "Even if someone isn't a fan of Gorillaz, they'll like it and read it. Y'know?"

"Wow. You're smart." He was still observing my action, as if he was trying to determine if I was good or bad by just looking at me.

"I mean, it's just guessing, honestly."

"Well, yeah, but, we already had a biography, an' even tho Murdoc would neva admit it, it didn' sell as well as he would've liked. Maybe tha' was it."

"Oh, yeah, Murdoc is supposed to be here to, right?"

"Yeah, he's somewhere around 'ere. Should probably tell 'im that you're 'ere."

"He didn't hear any of this?"

"Well, neither of us 'eard you come in. Fought the door was locked."

"I rang the doorbell. I won't lie, I was worried that something had happened."

"Like what?"

"Well, y'know, celebrities and their weird habits." He seemed like it hit a little too close to home.

"I do know," there was an awkward silence as he stood up, and I continued to screw with my tape recorder, "I should probably go get Murdoc. Try not to trip out again." He left the room and I laughed lightly.

I pulled the blanket more about my shoulders. I was still shivering, though it had died down slightly. I looked at my legs. I couldn't believe that I had been such an unprofessional idiot as to have been caught breaking into to someone's house and then promptly tripped out. Never had it been so indistinguishable between my role as a person in polite society and my role as a journalist. Then again, the minute I stepped into this house, I was on the case. That's how you got to run it if you want good stories.

"'Ello, luv." A gruff voice was behind me, and I turned my head. A broad-shouldered man with green skin and black hair stalked into the room. He looked something like a resurrected Beatle, which wasn't that odd in a house like this. I stood up and stuck out my hand.

"Hello, you must be Murdoc. I'm Dorothy, I'm gonna be you're writer."

"Pleasure's all mine, Dorothy." He shook my hand, trying a little too hard to be gentle.

"And you," I moved my hand to 2D, "Are 2D. Let's try this whole first meeting thing again, shall we?"

"Sure fing, love." He shook my hand a little more gently, and I could feel just how pointy his fingers were. An odd thing to notice, I'm sure, but I still couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes. Just something a little off-putting, even if I was expecting them.

"So, Dorothy, Dot, can I call you Dot?" Murdoc continued, leading me out of the room with the couches, though I kept the blanket.

"Sure, everyone already does." I got another look at the windows. It was pitch black outside, with a gentle rain, but it seemed as though the main storm had stopped. Still altogether unwelcoming, though.

"What exactly is this whole writing project, anyway? Our publicist was vague." It seemed that he had withheld so much information from even the "leader" of the band. Ah well. All in a day's work, I suppose."

"Yeah, I was just talking to 2D about that, I wasn't thinking biography though. I already told him that you guys already have one, and I think it could be alienating to anyone who's not that big of a fan."

"Why would someone who's not a fan read it at all?"

"Well, people like a good story. If anything, it could get you more fans if they find you intriguing."

"Well, I find me intriguing, so I think it'll work."

"I mean, nonuvit's official, of course. I speak with your publicist on Thursday, and we need to get his okay on everything, but either way, I'm just doing research now." We arrived in the kitchen, which had a large, somewhat ominous fridge in the back and a small table in the front.

"Beer alright with you? I do my best interviews when I'm drunk." Murdoc was reaching in the fridge, which looked to be filled with exclusively alcohol.

"With all that stuff in there, you don't have anything a little stronger do ya?"

"I like your style. And I like this scotch." He emphasized as he placed the bottle on the table, along with 3 glasses.

"If you don't mind me askin' how old are ya, Dot?" 2D gave his head a suspicious cock to the side.

"I'm 20. Why?"

"Aren't you not allowed to drink in America yet?"

"Well, yeah, but we're not in America. Besides, that's never stopped anyone, 'specially me."

"If that's the case," Murdoc had finished pouring the drink, and each of us took a glass, "You're gonna have fun 'ere. You are from the states, then? Thas' what the email said."

"Yeah, but I've come here before for articles and such. And I do love the drinkin' scene. Even if I get carded all the time."

"Carded?" 2D looked into his drink.

"Yeah, I think they call it something different here, but it's where you have to show your license if the bartender thinks you're underage. Lucky me. But anyway," I pressed play on the tape recorder, "Let's talk about you."

"Cheers." We clinked glasses in the center as our trio took a long swig.


	3. Chapter 3

Why'd you mail yourself back in a crate?

Part for old times' sake, part for saving money, part for catching up on my reading.

What reading?

Moby Dick. It's long enough.

But it was nostalgic, in a way, right?

Of course, it was. And I enjoyed the time to reflect, before the new album.

Was the whole experience of coming back nostalgic?

**_'Nostalgic' isn't the word I would use. More... familiar._ **

********Why's that?

**_Well, maybe it's different for Noodle, but for me, joining the band wasn't exactly essential for the formation of my character._ **

********It hasn't changed your life?

**_My life, yes, but not who I am. Even before the first album, I was already in that mindset._ **

********What mindset?

**_Writing songs, using music to express myself, experimentation, that sorta thing._ **

********And Noodle?

It was definitely nostalgic for me, even if we weren't at Kong. I think it was especially important because, for a while, my only memories were of making music. I spent a lot of time doing that when I was younger, inordinately so. Even if we were innovating, which is normal, it was still like a callback to what I hadn't done for so long. The band had been apart for several years at that point.

~~~~~

"So, you seem pretty up-to-date, then." Murdoc nodded as I tilted my head back and consumed the last of the scotch.

"What do you mean by that?"

"With the questions you ask and everythin'. Do you happen to be a fan?"

"Well, yes and no," she didn't even bother looking at their expressions in between her explanation, "Whenever I'm reporting on something, including people, I always find and synthesize everything I know about it first. So, I do know a lot about you, if that's what you're asking."

"But like, what do you fink about our music?" 2D cut in.

"I'm not completely unfamiliar, but my boss would've never picked someone who's a hardcore fan. Ruins the reporting, he says. But like, no one can really avoid Gorillaz, can they? Cultural icons and all that."

"Icons, really?" Even the most egotistical member of the band seemed a little caught off guard.

"Really really." I put my glass down on the table. Our interview had actually gone very well, despite my initial slip-up, and we had been at it for so long that it had become dark outside. My shivering had also stopped, and I slipped the blanket off my shoulders and began folding it.

"Well, it's dark outside, I better get a move on. Thanks for the scotch, and the material. You two are really good at being interviewed."

"Years of practice." Murdoc was speaking for both of them, as 2D seemed to be a little zoned out. I could never quite tell what he had zoned out while focusing on, because of his lack of pupils, so he always just seemed generally mystified.

"When should I drop by next? Expect to get used to my mug, I'm gonna be around here a lot for the next few weeks."

"Anytime tomorrow should work out fine. Noodle and Russel would be back by then, also."

"Awesome. And I'll finalize everything with your publicist sometime this week as well, so then we can all have a sense of where this thing is going."

The group grunted in agreement. 2D was now starting wistfully out one of the windows eyeing the front of the house.

"You don't have a car, do you?" 2D's voice poked through the agreeable veneer.

"Um, no, I was just gonna walk back into town and use the trains from there."

"You don't wanna walk back into town from 'ere, mate." Murdoc had already started on another ensemble of alcohol.

"Why not? The neighborhood seems pretty quiet."

"Yeah, and this house seemed pretty not-haunted this morning, yeah? I can give you a ride back. I gotta go get Noodle anyway." Murdoc pulled the keys out of god-knows-where before advancing towards the exit of the kitchen.

"Wait, I wanna do it!" 2D piped up once more.

"You can't drive for shit with those eyes."

"I've been practicing. I have. I can make it into town."

"You've been drinking."

"So have you!"

"Yeah, but I can hold it."

"You fink tha' afta livin' wif this band fer all these years I couldn't hold it well enough to drive?"

"Either way," Murdoc burped, "This one and Noodle ain't dispensable. Do it by yourself tomorrow."

"I've gone into town before, I can do it again. Don' act like you wanna drive all the way out there anyway, you can stay home and jack off of somefin'!" They both seemed to have forgotten that I was there at all. And that this would definitely be going in the book.

'That does sound rather appealing..." Murdoc mulled the thought over for a minute, "All right, then, Dents, take a crack at it. But if either of them end up dead, you're next." He tossed the keys over his shoulder before grumbling off out the door. It wasn't long before I heard creaks trailing up the stairs.

"Erm, shall we, then?" 2D was again aware that there were other people in the house. The faintest sound of water running into a bathtub permeated our awkward exit from the house.

The '69 Chevy Camaro that I had spotted on my way up here gave off the faintest hint of danger as I began to notice that the glass had been recently replaced and there were a few bullet holes.

"Damn, what happened here?"

"What happened where?" 2D held open the door for me to hop in.

"The car. What happened to it? Off the record, of course."

"Oh, um, well, the bullet holes are from Bruce Willis, and the glass is also Bruce, I think, and some of them are from the time tha' Noodle was a cyborg."

"Hm. That sounds like a loaded story." 2D chuckled.

"You have no idea."

The car fired to life as 2D hauled the rest of his gangly legs into the front. The way that he reached for the pedals wasn't an instinct, but rather controlled and precise, striving to look like he knew what he was doing without the built up skills being there already.

"Did you know how to drive before you lost your pupils?"

"Um, yeah, but I didn't drive much after because it wasn't really safe with the eyes. But, I dunno, I've been trying to be more self-reliant and find myself an' all that bullcrap, and I guess, along the way, I decided that part of that was learning how to drive. Huh."

"What?"

"Nofin', it's jus', I feel like I'm still being interviewed or somefin'."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, it's a habit, really. Ugh, sorry."

"Now, you didn't do anyfin wrong, jus'-"

"No, no, my friends say I do this too. It usually takes me some time to get out of journalist mode just after interviews."

"Or, maybe you're jus' easy to talk to." He tried to shoot her a smile, but the minute he took his eyes off the road the car began to swerve to the side. He struggled to take control of the wheel again while I laughed lightly.

"Well, thanks. Helps in my profession, I guess."

"Hey, ya mind maybe playin' some music. Helps with the driving, and we do have a bit of a trip. How'd'ya ever walk out here in the first place, by the way?"

"Well, I took the train out, and then took a taxi to the edge of town." I continued as I groped around in the dark of the cupholders searching for his phone and the AUX cord.

"Thas' a communte. Password's 1111."

"Secure." I thumbed it in and went to his Spotify.

"It actually is, though, because it's so not secure tha' nobodoy would even fink to type it!"

"Hm. I guess that actually does, kinda, make sense. What kinda music were ya thinkin'?"

"Surprise me."

"I gotchu." I went to the search bar, looking for some late night car drive vibes. Slowly, _Welcome to the Working Week_ blasted on the speakers of the car.

"Elvis Costello?! Didn't fink you seemed the type."

"What type did you think I seemed?"

"I dunno, actually. But no' this."

"Do you want me to change it?"

"No, no, I love this album."

"Yeah, me too." I propped my head up with my hands and stared at the window, and then turned my head to look at him, still intently focused on the road. The sky was smoggy, so there weren't any stars out, and the road seemed mainly industrial, and bleak. Like a highway, but without any cars or lights. Just our own.

"God, it feels like we're about ta be attacked by zombies or somefin'."

"Or abducted by aliens."

"Or get a picture of the sasquatch."

"Or a ghost."

"Or a..."

"Ha, I win."

"Only if you can think of somefin' else, you win."

"Fine, the Loch Ness-"

"No, no, no, somefin' tha' would make sense."

"None of these things are real."

"You can' prove that."

"Fine, it feels like we're about to see God."

"God?! Tha' was a jump."

"You asked, not me." A ring of chuckles echoed throughout the vehicle as their trek through the night continued.

"I s'pose I did start this whole thing." The car was silent as he continued to focus on driving, making sure to properly use the turning mechanisms, though with a road this vacant it probably wouldn't matter whether or not the proper turning signals were used.

"Erm, I have a question. It's kind of awkward, but I really wanna know." My stomach dropped slightly. I knew I had nothing to be nervous about, but I'd felt like my relationship with these people had gone really well so far, and I didn't want to mess it up.

"Yeah, shoot." Like I had the option to answer with anything else.

"Well, um, when I found you, on tha floor, after you started trippin' out an' all tha', well, like, I had ta carry you back to tha couch-"

"Oh god, I'm so sorry about that. Ugh, I should've just waited outside."

"No, no, that wasn't tha problem, don' worry, you're not tha' heavy, but, er, when I was doin' it yur shirt came up a little," my face was bright red, but thankfully he was too focused on the road to notice, "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn' mean ta say it like tha'. Really, it's fine, I promise. But, uh, I noticed that ye've got a massive scar on yer stomach. And, uh, I was wonderin' how you got tha'."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The scar had been there for so long already, I'd almost forgotten that I had it, and while I didn't like being reminded it was there, it was better than any alternative questions.

"Oh, that. God, I'm sorry you had to see that. I, um, I got in on one of my early reporting assignments, actually."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. It's not exactly standard in my profession, but it's not unheard of either. Especially with the kind of reporting that I do," he wasn't reacting anymore, which was worrying, "But, um, yeah, I got this when I decided to cover the stalking crisis in Japan, back when I was aloud to pick out some of my own assignments. I noticed that it was concentrated in a certain area, and I found out that the whole thing was actually something of a ploy set up by one of the security conglomerates in Japan. They were funneling news outlets into this small neighborhood where they would actually encourage stalkers, and use that to shape everyone's perception of how the thing worked. Pretty messed up stuff. The only problem is that when they figured out I was on to them, they got someone to stalk me. And one night, when I was walking home, well, I noticed that they were on my tail, and we got into this alleyway, and..." I trailed off. It was often hard to admit these sorts of things to people, because, the pillar of strength that reporters seem, we do have weaknesses. It's just so hard to admit them.

"Then what happened? Is' okay if you don't want to, I jus'-"

"No, it was parta my story, don't worry, I'm equipped ta tell people. Um, the guy got super close ta me, and, uh, I started running, but of course, I was cornered, and he took out a knife. I think it was just to scare me, but, um, I actually started to fight back with some of the random crap that was on the street, and long story short, he tried to put it to my throat, but I knocked him over and he ended up slicing me right across the stomach."

"Tha' sounds awful. Then wha' happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, were you okay after?"

"Oh, yeah, one of the people in the apartments called the cops because of the noise, and yelled out the window, so the guy got out of there, but I couldn't move. Thank god for that" I noticed that he was grimacing, "Sorry, I forget that this story ain't for the squeamish."

"No, is' alright. I asked. Jus', I can't believe tha' people would do somefin' like tha'."

"You and me both."

"Does it still hurt or somefin'?"

"Nope, though I wasn't aloud to drink for a while, and that hurt more." The first chuckle in a while.

"I'm glad I'm not a reporter."

"It's not that bad, I swear. Keeps you on your toes, if anything."

"Well, I could neva do tha'. I also probably couldn't report on a band, either."

"You guys are nice."

"Yeah, we are now, but back when we were still a young band we were a lot harder to deal with. Mainly Murdoc, but that fed into everyone. 'Cept Noodle and Russ. They've never been afraid of 'em."

"Well, that only leaves one person left, doesn't it?"

"Early band was really not a good time for me at all. But Murdoc's gotten a lot betta, and so have I. He may seem abrasive, but he's really not a bad person."

"A lot of people are like that, though, I get the sense that he's an extreme case."

"You got it." The car jerked to a stop. I noticed the lights of the town had begun flooding in through the windows, but we had both become so focused on the conversation that it seemed to just drown out the surroundings.

"Welp, this is where I get off. Thanks for the ride, you're honestly a perfectly fine driver."

"Yeah, thanks for tha chat. I, um, look forward to gettin' to know you."

I think he thought I couldn't notice, but I did see him watching me as I walked into the train station.


	4. Chapter 3

So, I have to ask, why's the band called Gorillaz?

**Thought you knew your stuff. Guess I overestimated you.**

********No, no, I know my stuff, well enough to know that every time you've been asked why the name 'Gorillaz', you've changed your answer. So, um, yeah, expand on that.

_Heh, heh, she got yooooouuuuu._

**Shut up. Um, yeah, the name went through multiple stages, like we were just Gorilla at one point, and then it was changed to Gorillaz, but to tell you the truth, even when I was first asked that question I couldn't really remember why I named the band that, so I kinda just made up a new reason each time. Save face and all that.**

********Save face?

**Well, you know how our fans like to read into some of the decisions we make, and I wanted to keep giving them things to read into.**

********_Honestly, all of the theories that are fans have are definitely way more intelligent than anythin' we could've fought of, so it's kinda interesting to just let them guess. So, that way, we can both seem like we know what we're doing and have engagement._

What are some of those theories?

_I once saw some post on the internet that said that it was a pun, because a group of Gorillaz is called a band._

**Back when it was called Gorilla, some people thought that it was a reference to guerilla warfare.**

********_Someone once said it was because we all looked like monkeys!_

**Really?**

********_Yeah. Thas' why you can't let the fans decide everfin'._

~~~~~

I cringed ringing the doorbell again. It felt sort of awkward, as I had just barged in yesterday and was only now putting on that veneer of civility. Like, yeah, I totally didn't barge into your house yesterday.

There was a thundering of footsteps inside, as well as some yelling, before I heard someone clambering towards the door. It was pulled back and answered by the same lanky person who'd driven me home last night, looking like he'd just woken up.

"Well, hi."

"Good mornin', afternoon, er-"

"Don't worry about it. I jus' got up an hour ago," we smiled at each other, as he continued to look down at me, "Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, uh, sure, um Noodle and Russ are in the kitchen," He held the door open as I stepped through into the creaky lobby, "I'd offer that you take your shoes off, but this is a very, uh, shoes-on house."

"Yeah, I got you."

We awkwardly stalked down the hallway to the room that I had been aiming for yesterday. The house seemed so much more inviting now that I knew it was filled with people.

"Is it her?!" a large, booming voice shouted from the kitchen. I could recognize him as a New Yorker.

"Yeah, it's her." 2D answered as we entered the kitchen.

The table was surrounded by a large, burly man whom I could only assume was just speaking, and a small, bored Japanese girl, around the same height as me. The man, Russel, was chomping on half a sandwich while reading a book, and the girl, Noodle, was flipping through her phone while sipping on some Ramune. The girl looked up and smiled.

"You're the writer?"

"Yup, I'm Dot." I bent down so we could shake hands before pulling up a chair. Russel finally shut his book before also shaking my hand.

"Well, Dot, I heard you wanted to talk to us." Definitely Brooklyn.

"That's the plan, yeah. Most of this is only preliminary, don't worry, this isn't like the end-all interview or anything. I'm sure you heard from those two that we're not even sure what we're writing yet, so today should be pretty light."

"Well, we got time, so just take what you need. Can I get you anything?"

"Actually, yeah, do you have anymore Ramune?"

"We sure do!" Noodle interjected, getting up from her seat while 2D continued to float around the room. She dug around in the fridge, while simultaneously busting the myth that the fridge was completely filled with alcohol.

"Can I ask where you got Ramune in Europe?"

"I make it my business to bring a lot back when I take trips to Japan."

"Smart."

"I haven't met a lot of Europeans or Americans who share my liking for it." She set the Ramune in front of me and I set to work popping the ball.

"Well, I did a stint in Japan once, and that was when we were introduced. Thank god for that."

"You lived in Japan? How long?"

"Three months."

"Yeah, she got attacked!" 2D borderline shouted into the conversation.

"That happens there sometimes, 'D." Noodle took another long sip as Russel continued on his sandwich.

"If you don't mind me asking, where in New Jersey are ya from?" It appears that Russel had done the same analysis on me as I had done on them. (A/N: Okay, so yeah, I know that my last heroine was also from New Jersey, but it's really the only state that I can convincingly write a person from. Because I'm from there. I just don't want to mess up writing a character from somewhere that I'm not from.)

"Is it that obvious?" I chuckled.

"'fraid so."

"Brooklyn, is it? I'm Newark, though I don't live there anymore."

"Newark's close to New York. I thought you were from the south or something."

"The south is completely different. I'm Northern NJ born and bred. Really, I'm almost offended."

"Didn't mean to impose. Either way, your entire state doesn't own Lady Liberty." He gave me a sly wink.

"You're hilarious."

I realized that both Noodle and 2D were somewhat excluded from the conversation, so I decided to continue with what I came here for.

"Well, we better get started. This usually takes a while. Again, I'll be more specific after I get the OK from your publicist."

"S'alright, we got all day." Russel was so agreeable it was hard to not to converse with him for hours.

"This isn't the first time we've had a long interview." Noodle crossed her legs up on the chair and looked at me, focused.

"Me neither. If there's one thing I've learned, it's an endurance sport."

2D pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge in the kitchen before floating out of the room just as he had arrived. I'd already gotten the tape recorder ready, and even had a few questions in mind, building off what I had done yesterday.

The interview floated by just as yesterday's had. I did get a little deeper into what made the characters of this peculiar group of individuals as I already had the basics down, which made it all the more fascinating. However, with every answer, I only got more and more questions. I did have that creeping sense of guilt that I felt with every person I interviewed, however, that being that their story is largely going to be told not by what they say, but how I notice they act, and the tiny details that inhabit their daily lives. I had an underlying feeling of guilt that I would be incriminating them. This would be a tricky tightrope to walk.

The trickle of the rain invited us to stop for the day. I had come earlier so I would have to walk back without troubling them for a drive, but the rain had different things in mind, apparently.

"Well, that's about it for now." I concluded our interview, filled with even more good information and reflection that I'm certain would go to good use.

"Man, I feel like I know myself so much better now." Noodle looked exhausted, as 2 hours of just talking about yourself in extensive detail should do to a person.

"That got very deep. I liked it." Russel smiled. I enjoy Russel.

"There's more where that came from, I promise you. I'm just getting started." I tried to sound mischievous, and like I knew what I was doing, but in reality, I was just as exhausted as they were. Interviews always took something out of me, even though they were the foundation of my job. That fact wasn't something that I was very good at hiding.

"Well, I better get outta your hair. I'm pretty sure your publicist will let you know when I'll be dropping by next, and it'll probably be less impromptu." I stood up and began to grab my stuff.

"You're not 'in our hair'. At least hang out a bit before the rain stops. I wanna know about your time in Japan." Noodle looked up at me expectantly. I enjoy Noodle, too.

"Are you sure? It's pretty messed up."

"I bet I could rival it."

"With your life story, you probably could. But I'll tell you anyway," I leaned back in my seat, "You know that giant exposé that was published on that one security company, in the South, for perpetuating that whole stalking crisis and scaring the crap out of all these girls?"

"Yeah, that was crazy."

"I wrote that."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I wrote that. One of my friends who was helping me out while I was there helped with the translation, but I interviewed, researched, and well, exposed the company. That was my second assignment, I think. That's how I got slashed in the stomach, like 2D said."

"Damn. That's badass."

"Thank you." Getting called badass by Noodle was probably one of the best moments of my life.

"Wait, wait, I thought you were a writer." Russel was just as engaged in my story as Noodle.

"Well, I write, but people usually call me an 'investigative reporter'. I cover stuff like that all the time whenever I get a lead somewhere."

"Well, then, all due respect, what are you doing here?" He said it like the way he spoke implied that he didn't emanate respect.

"I'm asking myself the same question. I thought I'd built up enough trust to get to pick where I wanna go, but my boss assigned me here," I shrugged my shoulders, "That being said, any other band in the world wouldn't be half as interesting as you all are."

"But you're not gonna write an exposé on us, are you?"

"We'll see about that, Russel. As long as you've got nothing to hide." I returned his sly wink from earlier.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N before we start!
> 
> So, all of the chapters you just read were written in 2019, but this one was written by me today! As such, the writing style may be a tad different.
> 
> Also:
> 
> \- It's really long (sorry about that) 
> 
> \- The perspective is in 3rd person because I'm an idiot. It'll be back to normal next chapter. 
> 
> \- Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, date rape drugs, violence 

**_It's sort of interesting, y'know, when you spend a large part of your waking hours possessed. It really makes you question your agency. Del would do stupid stuff while he was inside of me, and I would get blamed for it. And at one point it just became too much effort to explain the whole story every time, and I really started to wonder if it mattered who did it?_ **

But surely you cared to defend your character and everything?

**_Sure, but I cared a lot more about the person who was affected by it, so I just focused my attention on that._ **

Do you wish that you could've done anything differently looking back?

**_Honestly, there's so much that I wished didn't happen that I wouldn't know where to start. Especially when it's all mixed up with the good stuff that happened._ **

But she asked what YOU would've done Russ.

**_Hmm. I really wish that I sought therapy immediately post-possession, or at least not gone into isolation. It was honestly a terrible idea, because even when I was physically alone, I had my friends residing in me, but after they were ripped out by Death and I locked myself away, it was the first time that I was really, truly alone in a long time._ **

Has your relationship with being alone changed at all?

**_I've gotten better, definitely. I think it's an important skill, to be alone. Noodle here can vouch for that._ **

Sure, but you've definitely gotta have a mix. I think that our albums really reflect us as a group, because just like them, we have our individual moments but are really nothing without our collaborators.

~~~~~

The office was stuffy, just like its occupants.

The publicist was a stout, middle-aged man with dyed brown hair that always had white at the roots. Probably from stress, Dot guessed.

"Well if it's not going to be a biography, then what is it?"

"More of an investigation, I guess. I want to paint a picture of their lives, but I want to separate it from their albums."

"But they're a band."

"Right, but everyone already knows that. I feel like they don't know them as individuals. The music will be important, of course, but I feel like every time we hear stuff about them it's always framed around a specific album. I think that perhaps a more fluid take could be interesting. And they have very interesting lives themselves."

He sighed. The band was so old now that he had forgotten what it was like to deal with chipper youngin's that always think their new, fresh take is exactly what something needs.

"I think that you're making this whole book thing a little too lofty."

"What do you mean?"

"Frankly, our readers are not going to be people who care about nuanced storytelling and a fluid perspective. And to be honest, even if we release what happens to be the next 'War and Peace,' we're still gonna get more purchases on our Sexy Murdoc Fireman calendar."

"That's quite corporate." She didn't think before she spoke. She never did. She'd insulted the publicist. Great.

"We are a corporation."

"Well, yeah, but I thought that this was more of a publicity thing than a money thing?"

"It's in its own category. It's just anther step on the road in being a famous band, releasing your own biography that your fanbase will drool over."

"But they already-"

"But new stuff has happened, hasn't it? And it's your job to write it all down."

"So, how detached are we talking, then? Like, a Wikipedia page, or...?" Her voice faded out as she finally accepted that this meeting was not going well. This was not what she had been promised at all, and she could tell that she was definitely not the type of person that the publicist wanted to deal with. At least the feeling was mutual.

"That's your job to figure out. Write something that will sell. It's like what you did with writing stuff to get clicks, but physical copies this time."

"But people clicked on that because there was interesting and important stuff in there, not because they were a fan of the Japanese stalking crisis, or the war going on in the Middle East!" She could feel her face growing hot, talking about her like she was some tabloid journalist.

"Look, you do your job or we'll find another writer. It's a simple as that. So do it good."

This meant that the conversation was over. Dot looked at the floor. The publicist was gathering up his papers, not even bothering to look at her any more.

"What's the deal with band approval?"

"Pardon?" It was not a polite pardon at all, but at least the publicist was making an effort.

"I was told that I had to get the band's approval on the manuscript before it's published. What's that process going to look like?"

"Ahh, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but that's more to appease them than anything. Really, only me and Neil will have the power to make any edits."

Neil, she had learned earlier, was the band's manager, who hadn't even bothered to meet her. He must've been just as pleasant.

"I see. Well, have a good weekend." Dot was always aggressively polite when she was angry, as she picked up her purse, which she only kept for business occasions, and ducked out of the office. 

~~~~~

Dot loved the experience of being alone at bars. It always felt like the beginning of a movie, there was just so much potential for stuff to happen. She could walk out after winning a fight, meeting the love of her life, winning a drinking contest, or all three. Or something a lot worse.

That being said, bars were usually not her choice place to sulk. She had tried to get some work done back at her flat, but she just found herself too distracted with this sudden left turn on her writing assignment that she felt the need to get out of the house and expend her energy somewhere.

Perhaps into another shot.

The bartender slung it down the table and she caught it in the palm of her hand. It was the point in the night where she stopped noticing the smell, and she downed it in one gulp, like a well-oiled machine.

"Hey, is tha'.... oh it is! It's the reporter girl! Hey, er, Dot, over 'ere!" The cockney accent pierced through the air and she knew who it was before she swiveled around on her stool.

The band were huddled around a circle table in a corner, snacking on some bar delicacies whilst enjoying their drinks at different rates. 2D was waving her over with a goofy grin on his face. Dot shot them a smile, before lazily plopping off of her stool and sauntering over. She definitely wasn't drunk, but perhaps slightly buzzed.

"Didn't expect to see you here." Russ remarked, as he scooted over to offer her a seat.

"What can I say? Store-bought gets boring after a while." She wasn't looking at him, but rather following her instinct, as usual, and examining the table. If there's one thing she had learned, you could tell a lot about people by their drinks.

Russ, directly next to her, had gone with a gin and tonic, which Dot had actually considered ordering for herself earlier. Apparently they were really good here. 2D, next to him, had a rum and coke, which somehow fit him perfectly, even if he was in his 40s at this point. Murdoc had gone with what looked to be a classic, old, and very expensive whiskey, which would define his breath for the rest of the evening. And finally, Noodle had a fruity cocktail, which looked really decliiosu from where Dot was sitting.

"Well, I can promise you that this place is anything but boring, love." Murdoc was already slightly intoxicated, she could tell from the way that his words crawled out of his mouth.

"Yeah, last week there was a fight!" 2D reminded her of an elementary school kid reporting on a squabble that they had seen in the hallways.

"Yeah. I won." Noodle took a sip of her drink with a wry smile.

"Anyway, what'll you have?" Murdoc put his arm up, waving the server over.

"'Fraid I'm a bit ahead of you on that. Just finished my fifth shot."

"We'll make it a sixth, then. A round of shots for the table." The server nodded and hustled back behind the bar.

"You can have mine, Murdoc." 2D took a long sip of his drink before gently placing it back on the table. Murdoc didn't even acknowledge his statement, like there was some sort of unspoken agreement between them. Well, it would have to be spoken now, because Dot was nosy.

"Not much of a drinker?"

"Are you recording right now?" The table laughed, but Dot could tell that his question was actually meant to be genuine.

"Nope, all off-the-cuff. Unknown. 2D after dark, if you will." She smiled, and he seemed at least somewhat reassured.

2D opened his mouth to answer, but before a single word could get out the server placed a tray of shots at their table. Murdoc swiped two of the shots in front of him, while Russel and Noodle, graceful as swans, took theirs. Dot grabbed hers patiently, waiting to see if this was the type of group to wait for everyone or just go off.

She got her answer when Murdoc used both his left and his right hand to consume both shots at once.

Dot took her queue and knocked her head back, feeling to alcohol's burn slither down her throat. She wiped her mouth loosely with the back of her hand and slammed the glass down on the table, a little more aggressively than she had intended. Noodle and Russel asynchronously put their glasses down as they finished. 2D flinched slightly every time the glasses clinked against the table.

"Hey, mate, can you get this one a chaser?" Murdoc gestured towards the server again, and Dot realized that he was talking about her.

"Crap, my first week and I've already got a tab."

Noodle giggled.

"Nah, I've got this one." Murdoc replied.

"Are you sure? I can-"

"It's nothing compared to what I normally end up spending. Trust me."

"Thanks man." Dot shrugged. They probably made more money than her anyway.

The server returned with a standard bottle of beer for Dot, though it was ice cold. This really was a good bar. She'd have to come here more often.

Of course, with the bottle being fancy beer, it had a traditional bottle cap, which she really had no idea how to open without a bottle opener. She realized that everyone was looking at her as she just stared at it, her buzzed brain trying to make sense of it.

"Wanna see somefink cool?" 2D didn't wait for an answer as he grabbed the beer from her. She looked at him from the side.

"This is D's one party trick." Russ chuckled. 2D just ignored him. Dot was more concerned about what was going to happen with her beer.

2D was completely focused on his trick at this point. He took the bottle in his right hand and put it up to his black, vacant eyes before inserting the cap into his eye socket. He pulled on the outside of the bottle and separated the two, effectively removing the cap with his eye socket. The cap was still in there, and he put his head down and blinked. The cap left the socket and fell into his hand.

2D handed her the beer and the cap with that same goofy smile that he had waved her over with.

"Ta da!" He was so proud of himself that Dot couldn't help but smile, even if she was also slightly freaked out. She gratefully took the beer.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" She asked with a sip.

"It's a certified-2D invention!" Man, he really was proud of himself.

"Sometimes I wish I could be that horrifying." Murdoc grumbled, returning to his whiskey.

The group erupted into separate, private chatter about what they had been discussing before. Dot continued sipping her drink while listening contently. She loved hearing interpersonal conversations, as she felt that it could really give insight into people's relationships.

Several topics floated through the conversation, such as the next album, some possible locations that they hadn't tried for the next tour, and apparently a wild trip with Snoop Dogg that Murdoc had once. As they chatted, they periodically waved the server over for refilling their drinks. And Dot, being her usual nosy self, kept a careful eye on what they were ordering.

That was how she noticed, so thank God that she had been so nosy.

Noodle had given up on cocktails and decided to join Dot in her beer. The first sign that something was off was that when the server brought the beer to the table, it was already open, though Noodle was either too tipsy or distracted to notice.

The second sign that something was wrong was that the bottle of beer seemed extremely full, almost spilling out the top. Dot's, of the same brand, had only been up to the bend in the neck of the bottle.

Noodle lifted it to her lips to take sip, and Dot realized that her time was running out to come to a conclusion.

"Wait, no, don't, ugh-" Dot reached across the table and gently but firmly grasped her hand, stopping the bottle in motion. Noodle's fingers were cool to the touch.

Shit. Everyone was looking at her like she had grown three heads. She pulled her hands back, and her face flushed. She realized that she might just be paranoid.

"Uh, is everything alright?" Russel was the first to ask as Noodle carefully examined her drink, wondering what in the world could be wrong with it.

"I, uh," Dot stuttered, even though at this point she practically sober.

"Well, spit it out!" Murdoc growled, and a little bit of spit splattered on the table. Dot flinched.

"Um, I think your drink might've been drugged, Noodle." Dot looked at her apologetically, realizing that she may have killed the mood a little bit.

Noodle raised an eyebrow, Murdoc looked at her quizzically, 2D's eyes widened and Russel gestured for Noodle to hand it over.

Noodle gently slid it across the table and Russel handed it to Dot, as if giving her a chance to prove herself.

"Well, uh, I'm not sure, but, look, it came to the table opened, which none of ours have, and if uh, we could get a new one-"

"Oi, mate, another beer over here!" Murdoc yelled across the room, making Dot flinch a little again. She waited in awkward silence as the sever hustled over.

Dot held the two up, like a scientist, at eye-level. There was clearly a difference in volume in two. The new one, with cool droplets prancing across Dot's fingers, was, as she had predicted, only up to the base of the neck, while the beer that Noodle had been about to drink was scraping the opening of the bottle.

"There's a difference in volume between the new one and the one that she had, so either the servers added more beer, or, uh, there's something in there that shouldn't be. And look," she was now in the zone, noticing more details, "Noodle's is a lot more diluted than the new one. It could've been a clear fluid, maybe-"

Murdoc snatched the bottles from her and eyed them just like she had. Noodle just looked on mortified, as Russ eyed her sympathetically. 2D's eyes were trained on Dot.

Murdoc slammed the two bottles down on the table and got up from his seat, walking over Noodle and approaching the bar. His face had twisted into a very angry look.

2D and Noodle just stayed there, in shock, examining the bottles, while Russel's eyes seemed focus on Noodle. Poor Noodle looked like she was barely comprehending what was happening.

"What do you fink it was?" 2D asked from across the table.

"Hm?" Dot wasn't listening, just stewing in her own awkwardness. Noodle and Russ returned slightly to the conversation.

"You were about to say wha' you thought it was." 2D reminded her.

"Oh, uh, yeah," she took a deep breath, "well, I'm no expert but I think it was ketamine. It would fit, because it's a clear liquid that you can't smell or taste, and usually takes some time to act, about a half hour..." her voice trailed off again as she realized that her Wikipedia ramblings were not welcome. She looked at her hands again.

Noodle took one more look at the bottles before calmly getting up from where she was sitting and following Murdoc up to the bar.

"Oh shit." Dot felt Russel's movement as he shifted, and she scurried to give him space to get out. 2D followed, and Dot trailed behind. Apparently, some shit was about to go down.

She couldn't exactly see what was happening, as it was happening behind the bar table, but the noises were loud, and surprisingly varied. There were crunches, crashes, slaps, bumps, grunts, and everything in between, as well as the occasional sport of liquid and Murdoc or Noodle coming up to catch their breath.

Russel was about to jump over the table to get into the action, but a few other bar servers came up from behind him and tried to pull him back. He shoved them off, and a small match broke out between them, with him aggressively asserting that someone had drugged their Noodle.

"Getchur fuckin' hands off of me man, I'm not the one here you should be attacking. Your waiter fucking drugged my girl!"

Two of the waiters turned to evacuate, but the were quickly met with a tall, lanky kid blocking them from exiting. Though the rest of him wasn't necessarily intimidating, he stared at them with his voids for eyes and emotionless expressions. If Dot didn't know any better, he was well-practiced in spooking people with them.

Dot wasn't necessarily a violent person, but she couldn't sit there doing nothing. Especially not after she saw the security guard take out his pistol. Everyone else was occupied.

"Wait, no!" She grabbed both of his arms and hauled the pistol out of the line of fire of the band, aiming it shakily at the floor as the guard tried to shrug her off. Maybe it was the booze, but she could've sworn that she had gotten just a little stronger.

"I'm sorry, I," she panted, still trying to hold him down as he looked at her, not knowing what to think, "I know you're just trying to do your job but they tried to drug my friend."

Just from the disgusted look that passed across his face, Dot could tell that he wasn't involved in this. He quickly made an effort to correct himself to professionalism.

"You better have evidence for this, Miss." The guard pulled out his cellphone and appeared to be calling the cops. Dot peeked over the bar, and almost threw up at the sight. The server was definitely still alive, though it looked like that was worse than death at this point.

Were they going to kill him?

Dot hopped over the bar, having to bare the stench of fresh blood, as the slowly crept towards them. Noodle noticed her out of the corner of her eye, and appeared ready to attack, but she put up her hands peacefully and made sure to keep her face showing. Murdoc, on the other hand, wasn't facing her, but was too occupied kicking the shit out of the guy.

"The cops are coming. Please don't kill him." Dot softly pleaded at Noodle. Her expression didn't soften, but she appeared to come back to Earth as she put a harsh hand on Murdoc's shoulder.

"He's had enough." She had harshly.

"Like, hell he has, I'll fuckin-"

"Enough. Let's go. We're done here." Noodle was not inviting room for argument anymore. She looked Murdoc dead in the eyes, and they both climbed back over the bar, stepping directly on the mans' chest as they did. Murdoc was panting, almost as if he was coming out of some trance. 

Dot slowly approached the server. She kneeled down and heard him groan. He did not look good. Part of her wanted to help him, perhaps take away a little bit of the pain, but the other part of her didn't want to interfere with Noodle and Murdoc's catharsis. No, she had another mission.

She ran her fingers across his apron, feeling for anything protruding from their pockets. She finally made contact with a smooth, round object. She pulled a napkin off from the top of the bar and used it as a shield between her fingerprints and the glass vial that she pulled out of the pocket.

C13H16CINO. She didn't know what the hell that was, but a quick google search of the chemical formula proved her suspicion correct.

Sirens wailed and she suddenly became aware of the background talking in the bar. The police were here.

She poked her head out from above the bar and noticed that the guard was frantically searching for her. Noodle and Murdoc were already arguing with a small horde of police officers who were trying to get them to put their hands behind their back, while Russel was aggressively persuaded to take his hands off of the circle of people that he had left on the floor. 2D kept his menacing stare, and most of the cops left him alone. He stood at the entrance, and no one left on his watch.

"There she is." The security guard and the cops were looking directly at her. A small medical team brushed past her and tended to the guy on the ground.

"We're gonna have to take you in." The cop started, sounding like he was ready for another fight.

"Yes, but wait, before you do, I have something. I found this in his pockets." She held up her napkin hand, revealing the small vial with liquid. The cop's eyes widened, and the security guard breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think it's ketamine. He drugged my friend's drink, but we caught it and then they got mad and-"

"Slow down, slow down." The cop took out a plastic bag and gestured for Dot to place the vial inside. It plopped, squished around, and then settled inside its casing as the cop sealed it shut and put it in his pocket.

He gently took her to the side and sat her down in a slightly more quiet corner of the bar. He was carrying a notepad and a recorder, much like Dot did when she was reporting.

"Now, start from the beginning." 


End file.
